


everything and nothing

by kanjogirl



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Happy Ending, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Infinity Gems, Light Angst, Other, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Siblings, Soul Bond, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanjogirl/pseuds/kanjogirl
Summary: She had heard his call and reached out, yanked him from the abyss---as if he were a stray she had found from a dark corner.  He lacked his anchor in the form of lighting and, in time, he would understand she had lost hers too.Infinity War divergence of sorts; Gamora & Loki centric with sibling adoration everywhere.  No real warnings beyond spoilers.





	1. to know everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this film went out in the purpose to deliberately offend me, it seemed fitting that I create my own version to soothe my soul. I had to get this out before next year and any more leaks from the Avengers 4 set came out because I knew I would never write it otherwise.

There is everything and there is nothing.  A name, but nameless still. The deafening roar but silence all at once.  

  
  


It encases him, this everything and nothing.  An emptiness but crowded. Holds him like a newborn, gently and welcoming but yet cruelly, for there is no one else.  It snakes along him in that null and suffocating brilliance, caressing him as if he didn’t have anything else to belong to.  But he does, doesn’t he? Have belonging. Somewhere, in this deep, deep something. 

  
  


And it’s there, he understands what has become of him.  For he isn’t meant to exist in this space. Not without another.  And, yet, he relishes in it, allows it to flow through him like a water’s steady current.  It’s comforting and unnerving. It’s everything and nothing. 

  
  


And, even then, that ends too.  Something takes him by the wrist, carefully guiding him elsewhere, gently, softly.  And he lets it, despite himself. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


It’s another world, he realizes with wonderment.  A beautiful world that stretches infinitely and he thinks that perhaps that is the point---to be an endless span to contain universes within.  The colors range within the golds and reds, though soft and warm, overwhelmingly so. 

  
  


The hand around his wrist remains there, small but sure, encasing him in something he’s felt before, he supposes.  Attention all for him but for reasons not of duty or convenience but of want. Attention for him merely because he  _ exists _ .  It’s a new feeling that washes over him---an odd sort of peace but perhaps he’s never felt peace at all to understand.  

  
  


She’s small, a child embodying the innocence and newfound tranquility in a stark world.  Dark crimson hair, tied messily into two buns atop her head and even darker reds she wears.  Her skin an emerald color that he predictably finds comfort in, as it’s the shade he wears even now, in this strange morose vision and dreamscape.  And her eyes---they light with gold there, a glint meant for childish jest, yet it seems like a welcome home. 

  
  


“It’s warmer here,” he remarks as they stand upon a cliff and he wonders if it’s of her own making.  The landscape below is a valley, a river glimmering gold between the hills they stand upon. “You mean to have me stay here.”

  
  


Her voice resonates ( _ Like a god _ , he thinks), soft but overwhelming all at once.  “Only if you wish it. I heard your call, so I reached out for you.”

  
  


Despite the lovely world, he finds him staring down at the child, holding his wrist still and he discerns she’s grounding him.  For if she shall let go, he’d be whisked away to where he had been before---the everything and nothing. He wishes for it but resents it all at once, unsure of his choices; a startling thought as he vaguely recalls he used to be so certain before, in a past life.  

  
  


“You pull strays from their dark corners often, then.”

  
  


The gold swims in her eyes as she looks upon him and it feels as though he is the one who is small.  “Perhaps my soul cannot be broken of habit, even here.”

  
  


“What do you call this place?”

  
  


“There’s no name but I believe you know where we are.  What you wish to know is  _ why _ .”

  
  


Her voice echoes into the beyond and he thinks, perhaps, she is the everything and nothing from before.  For how could she have yanked him from it? There’s a smile upon her lips, a gesture so foreign now and he has to remember the meaning.  Quite possibly he had used his own smiles as something cruel in a past life that he’s forgotten. 

  
  


“Is there a reason?” 

  
  


The smile widens then, glee reaching every corner of her face.  “You will see.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


She shows him his reflection in the waters as they walk along the river.  For a world so endless, there is no one but them and he finds it both comforting and unsettling.  Everything and nothing. She stops them at the bank and leads him to the water. 

  
  


As he looks upon his face, he cannot give it a name.  Stardust floods his eyes, just as the gold swims in hers, like the skies on a land he cannot quite recall.  But in this, he recalls a gem with infinite power, held in his hand and ready to trade it for a life he had once cared for.  

  
  


“You see now,” the girl tugs on his wrist again and he’s standing once more.  “It chose you.”

  
  


“No,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing his brow as he strains to remember, remember, _ remember _ , “I don’t understand.”

  
  


“That’s all right,” she says to him, happily, charmingly, convincingly.  “You will.”

  
  


It’s everything and nothing.

  
  


\---

  
  


“There are others,” he remarks aloud to her.

  
  


Time is no longer a concept he’s willing to understand here.  There is existence and there is not. That’s all he can be truly certain of, as the hand that grips his wrist, tethering him to her world.  Beings pass like ghosts, blurred and unseen after a blink of an eye. 

  
  


“Yes,” it’s the first time she sounds forlorn, wistful, but no less like a god.  This god in the form of a child. “Some long before us, brought upon another wielder in the beginnings of the universe.  Some in the middle. Some now, at the end.”

  
  


“Is it the end?”

  
  


“For us, yes.  

  
  


“Then I am glad to have witnessed the fall.”

  
  


“Are you?  Without the one that anchors you?”

  
  


The images filter through his eyes, as if seeing them for the first time.  Memories, he grasps, like a stray thread, unraveling the rest of the fabric.  That anchor, as she says, comes in the shape of a king, eyes ablaze and lighting jagged and curled within his hands.  It’s another striking truth in this foreign place. That anchor, a king, a warrior, the lighting, brother, is everything and nothing.  

  
  


“You mean to show me a heart,” he assumes her intentions, once again.  

  
  


Once again, she smiles, everything and nothing, and says, “I merely unveil souls here.  Your heart is your own.”

  
  


He stands before her still, the small hand wrapped around his wrist is tight now, as if she’s sure he does not want to go back to where he once came.  Where she had clasped and wrenched him from. It’s comforting here and yet he feels like a visitor. Purposeless in this great expanse she commands and wanders with him.  

  
  


“And what of yours?  Your soul? Have you got one?”

  
  


Her smile is balanced then, the gold dims in her eyes and he thinks it could grow brighter with a gentle whisper, like breath to a fire.  “I was the first claimed. My soul intertwined with the gem now. And with His.”

  
  


It’s said with such finality and she seems to grow smaller at the mention.  Withers, almost. Just as he did when reminded of his own anchor. But that doesn’t seem right---not her anchor: her reason for being.  She’s separated her anchor from her reason for existence and he thinks that must be nice, for in a past life, his anchor and reason for being is the same person, same king, same brother.  

  
  


“What of those before you?”

  
  


“There had never been a sacrifice before,” she moves them, past the trees that stretch to amber skies.  Her other hand grazes the bark, like a mindless comfort. “It is mine, as the Other is yours.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


He knows of what the Other is.  But he doesn’t understand, as he’s told her before.  He’s only wielded it once, held onto it like a precious treasure and that it all.  It had been his undoing, his death, he recognizes now. 

  
  


Memories are a cruel thing, in this place.  They cut him like the barbed lighting he remembers, harsh and white hot, searing him from inside.  It brings forth regrets, a whisper of what havoc he’s brought upon the universe by his actions alone.  Selfish. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“Why did it choose me?”

  
  


They walk through the forest and it’s endless.  There’s an odd tranquility about that, for he doesn’t want it to end.  But he’s certain she’s taking him on a journey and those inevitably end, do they not?  

  
  


“You know,” she simply states and pauses.  

  
  


Both their feet halt and she turns to him.  He tilts his head in question to the child, curious she would stop their trek to wherever she plans to take him.  The liquid gold is alight once more, speaking of silent promises he’s sure she holds for all the souls that reside with her.  A god, everything and nothing. 

  
  


Her other hand beckons him closer and he kneels to be eye level, the action easier and like a feather of muscle memory.  Her small fingertips graze his brow and she stares at him with glee and sadness all at once, secrets only for her to keep.  

  
  


And then gold hides behind eyelids and he closes his as well.  

  
  


\---

  
  


The stones call for each other, ache to be together, wielded together, but can never be for long.  They cannot be reunited for the rest of time, doomed to be the last bits of energies left when all the stars die out, when there is nothing left but them and then they will dwindle away too.  All until they start the universe again. 

  
  


No other stone knows this truth as deeply as the Space Stone.  For what other being would know loss and ache as much as the one who embodies the void?  To know loneliness, to hear the calls of its kin and cannot reach them? To understand everything and nothing, only to stay stagnant and barren.  What of it then? What will it leave it this time? Only to be torn apart, into that nothingness, that everything. 

  
  


For the others wish to be together and yet they can grow comfortable with what they’re given.  The Space Stone does not have this convenience and it wants for nothing more to be surrounded by kin.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“You see now,” she echoes from before, hand caressing his face, like a mother would.  

  
  


“Yes,” he murmurs, staring at his own hand, “I understand.”

  
  


“It tethered itself to you, for you understood its longing above all.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


(He hates, hates,  _ hates  _ what it means, so suddenly.  But all at once, he loves too.  It surrounds him, like heavy furs, a comfortable burden upon his shoulders.  It both rips him apart and melds him together, like that lighting, everything and nothing.  

  
  


He thinks it must be a nice thing for other souls, to hold sentiment so close, like something to be treasured.  But sentiments meant poison to him and he’d catch himself before he took that drink, smile spitefully and reject it bitterly, wretchedly.  

  
  


For what was the Space Stone without its kin?  What is he without his brother? 

  
  


A wanderer, mindless and purposeless.)

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


They move from the tree line, moving through the wisps of ghosts, souls that have been claimed, weaving through a ghost village.  It’s all in crumbles, wrecked from a war unseen. Fragments from her world, he wants to believe. Her past life, or another’s and she keeps it.  

  
  


“You keep this form,” he tells her, even though it could be posed as a question.  

  
  


“I thought a child leading you would be a comfort.”

  
  


“It matters no more to me.”

  
  


“Very well.”

  
  


Within a blink of an eye, she’s nearly as tall as he is, the hand around his wrist larger but slender still.  Red hair falls over her shoulders and face now of a matured version of the small girl from before. She wears the same tunic, crimson and black, as if holding onto some semblance from her past life.  Though he cannot disagree with the nostalgia, as he wears the colors from a fonder time too. 

  
  


She smiles, that gold glittering something like untold mischief, yet he welcomes it.  Everything and nothing. A god. As he must have thought of himself once. What he could never become, a lie, as were the words spilled from his mouth in the life he led.  

  
  


“Is this the form you held when you were murdered?”

  
  


The crudeness of the question doesn’t escape her and it’s as if had struck her.  Nothing else moves but the swirl of gold, heavy and secret-laden. She glances towards the skies then, the hues of amber and light reds reflect upon her face, basking in  _ her _ warmth, for she’s the god here and all worships her.  A humble sort of god, he supposes, with the weight of all the souls that brush past them.  

  
  


“It’s the form I had before He tossed me away.”

  
  


“You speak of him like a god.  He is not.”

  
  


She turns to him then, a level of startlement sparked in her features.  It’s the first he sees this entity before him look upon him in a way. To surprise a god,  _ this _ god.  And then it vanishes, smoothed away by an all-knowing smile and a nod.  

  
  


“Yes, I suppose he is not.”

  
  


Caught with memory, she seems to flick it away and it’s no more.  He wishes he could do the same with his everything and nothing. 

  
  


\---

  
  
  


They arrive.

  
  


It’s a shrine of sorts, surrounded suddenly by nothing but the reflection of still water.  They stand atop the stone of the shrine, sheltered by its narrow and elegantly designed roof.  She lowers herself upon its floor and he follows, lest he be ripped from her grip. 

  
  


They stay there for a time, quietly watching as souls appear and disappear, like the ghosts they are.  He watches her, watching them, looking upon them with a sad fondness. She recognizes the faces, he realizes; she sees them for who they had been.  Peering into their souls, while he cannot. All he sees are shadows, without much form and featureless. Through stardust eyes, he only sees everything and nothing and it obscures them.  Out of touch and he supposes that is the purpose. 

  
  


He remembers her light touch upon his forehead from earlier and intertwined their fingers then, careful not to fully release before he holds her hand within his.  Her eyes snap to his. 

  
  


And then he sees  _ her _ .  

  
  


A warrior, fierce and jagged.  A lover, sharper still but adored.  A companion, respected and treasured.  And a sister, hated and loved, all at once.  Everything and nothing. The paradox that tethers the both of them.  

  
  


“Is she here?  Your sister?”

  
  


She doesn’t withdraw from him and he doesn’t let go.  Instead, she smiles that smile again, warm and inviting.  “No. As your brother is not either.”

  
  


Perhaps he had hoped for the both of their sakes.  The reunion that would never come again. Bound to call for each other but torn apart all too soon.  

  
  


“They seek revenge, for us,” she says, crestfallen and looks upon the skies once more.  “They won’t know peace for it.”

  
  


“Would they if they didn’t take it?”

  
  


She turns to him then and shakes her head.  “No.”

  
  


“Then let nothing stop them from their revenge.”

  
  


“You want them to take it, whether it would destroy them or not,” she says and it feels like that barbed lighting in his chest, as if she can tear him open, see the small, selfish and cold heart that lies beneath.  “It would mean he cares for you, even beyond your death.”

  
  


“Yes,” he agrees and thinks it’s pointless to hide it all now.  Hide from the god who sees souls, the wretched and innocence. “You don’t?”

  
  


Her mouth quirks into a smirk now, smooth, clandestine.  “I want peace that will never come.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Infinity means forever.  For the same cycle to occur, over and over.  It’s a terrible truth the stone shows him, something that cries and laughs as it embraces the fact with fondness as it tears it apart.  How cruel infinity sounds. 

  
  


But to her, he understands, it simply means  _ Until next time _ .

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


He thinks the stones must choose souls as their representatives, so that they may sit together like this.  To bask in each other’s presence with understanding, revelations and simply exist. She embodies the Soul, with all her warmth and light and he embodies Space, with the void that searches for the cosmic life.  

  
  


What a wonderful and wicked sentiment of all.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“It’s time,” she says, a quiet whisper that cuts him.  

  
  


He feels it too.  The rip to the fabric that binds them together, only to be torn away to the shreds they were before.  That full circle, where there is no end and no beginning. Everything and nothing. 

  
  


“What a shame.”

  
  


“They mean to set it right a second time.”

  
  


It’s then, among still water and under a small shrine, within a world he doesn’t belong, he feels a flutter.  Something new. Something he fears to hope for. Now she grins, shoulders tremble as she laughs with hopeless abandon, shaking her head.  

  
  


“You see it as futile,” he states.

  
  


“No, I see it as another fork in the road.  We will retrace our steps to go back to it.”

  
  


“Is that such a terrible thought?”

  
  


“I wish I had gotten to know you, even for a short time.”

  
  


The confession bleeds despondency.  Perhaps she is used to being a god and having another to speak to, not tied to this world.  But he’s gotten used to her too. Yes, with her golden eyes and welcoming smiles, the traces of an entity reborn for something greater.  Not he, for he wasn’t meant for anything great, even now. 

  
  


“Your name,” he prompts.  

  
  


But she shakes her head.  “No names here.”

  
  


“Then I bid thee farewell,” he bows his head and takes a step back, their joined hands within the space between.  

  
  


“In another life,” she says.  

  
  


It’s only right she’s the one to let go, he thinks, as he’s jerked violently back to the very stone that claimed him before.  She had been the one to guide him in the first place. It’s fitting she’d be the one to send him back. 

  
  


And he returns to the everything and nothing.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


The tumble back to a familiar reality is a harsh one.  Disorienting and sickening. A former life is yanked by a single line right out of his chest and he’s left with that lonesome, frozen heart that feels as though it will shatter.  

  
  


He struggles a moment, caught between three different worlds all at once, struggling to ground himself in at least one.  It doesn’t work at first---the anchor he had once had isn’t present and a restless fear curdles inside his head that he’s in a world without it.  There’s a fight to stay lucid, to remember, remember,  _ remember  _ everything and nothing.  

  
  


And then he can’t remember anything at all.  

  
  


The Space Stone leaves him bare, stripped of the worlds before.  A little girl and her hair in buns, eyes of molten gold and a warm smile.  An endless landscape with the shadow of souls. A void that cries out for its kin.  A call of his own, reaching, reaching,  _ reaching  _ for that everything and nothing.  

  
  


Gone.  

  
  


And he’s suddenly stumbling over his feet and he’s falling towards solid ground.  Hands catch him then, familiar. An anchor.  _ His _ anchor.  

  
  


“Steady, brother.”

  
  


His ankles, wrists, mouth are bound with iron.  He does as he’s told, mutely, bitterly. It’s like deja vu, something amiss, like an echo of muscle memory.  They’re walking through corridors. Midgard. And he’s been contained, ready to head back to---

  
  


“Loki.”

  
  


Ah, yes.  That’s his name.  Had he forgotten for some reason?  For a moment, it seemed as if he had no name at all.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  


It comes as a whisper, a hand on his shoulder, as if the man is not allowed to be close or speak to him.  Which he thinks, proudly, that is how it should be. He is a god among these humans, to be feared. But that is not the reason, he can tell.  He cannot ask the intentions of the man, however, for iron covers his lips, muzzled. So he merely eyes the man suspiciously. 

  
  


It’s Tony Stark, looking more ragged,  _ tired _ , than before.  In passing, he leans forward, almost hastily, and mutters in his ear, “Thanos returns---and he’s destroyed the universe and  _ you  _ will be the first.”

  
  


It’s an odd thing to say, really.  In hindsight, Loki will still think it odd to chose those words.  For in all his hubris, after the attack on New York and Thor’s precious humans, Loki would have still said, “ _ Good. _  Let him come.”

  
  


He would have, if unmuzzled and not for a flash of blue starlight and a small child that streaks through his memories.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like more fics involving all the sets of siblings the MCU has to offer, honestly. Like, all of them, together and complaining/bragging about each other.


	2. within the space of nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You could be so much more," is something he's so tired of hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tone shift.

It all comes back in fragments over the course of long months, which ends up turning into years.  A life from before. He’s in a new reality, he realizes grimly. Doomed to retrace his steps, doubting his actions and being uncertain for periods of time.  

  
  


In the end, some things shift.  Not all, but some. 

  
  


Thor’s been warned in a similar fashion, he’s come to understand.  Because his actions are more sure than Loki’s. Determined to escape a fate that he’s hellbent to twist into something less broken.  Loki goes through the motions, threaded into the image that all see him for: a liar. So he plays the part well. 

 

(The difference, he thinks, is the complacency in his actions.  He knows the lines, the movements. It’s all so familiar but it lacks heart.  He’s purposeless in this second chance; there is no motivation, for he would not save this damned universe.  He’s mad, both wild and despondent in his thoughts. He would stay with Thor, yet there is no reason to in his brother’s eyes---why would Loki stay?  By now, Loki’s soul is now worn out, tired and he feels more connected to that damn stone that claimed him. Burdened to repel himself away from his kin.)

  
  


It’s when he fakes his death, he changes something different.  There, on the darkened world and Thor holding him atop obsidian dust, Loki decides what he will do instead.  Tweak the course ever so slightly. Leave their father to the throne instead of overtaking it; steal away the Reality Stone and sell it to the Collector; little things.  

  
  


He flees, leaving his anchor, everything and nothing.  

  
  


Better to leave Thor to save the universe than he.  Loki is no hero, never will be. His brother thinks differently, he knows, and he’s said as much in another life.   _ You could be so much more _ .  But Loki has been so much more before and he’s been nothing.  It’s frustrating and relieving all at once to leave Thor behind.  A habit that tears him apart and stitches him back together. 

  
  


He remembers Thor’s shadow and remembers the sun.  And remembers the paradox when he thinks of them as the same thing, wrapped inside one man who believed Loki dead.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  


He hears the Space Stone sometimes.  Feels it down to his very being, reverberating again and again.  It knows him now and Loki can recognize it. In his dreams, passing moments as he drifts through the endless worlds he steps foot on.  It asks why he hadn’t stayed, why not change this part of his history, if anything else? But he does not have an answer. 

  
  


Loki means to put worlds between he and Thor.  It was he who brought darkness upon Asgard, in the end, after all.  He had been Thor’s undoing, blinded by misguided affection. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


It’ll be a full year before he sees  _ her _ again.  

  
  


She’s arguing with someone in the markets, hotly and exasperated.  He doesn’t recognize her at first; it’s the voice that dips low into a calm, threatening tone that has him whirling around, searching for molten gold eyes.  He had brushed right past her seconds before but eavesdropping has its benefits, it would seem, as he hears that voice now seared into his memory. The fragments of the past life allows him this; a god that nursed souls, cradled them with a childlike innocence, knew them all inside and out.

  
  


He’s staring blankly at her now as she gestures to the vender, who obviously wishes for more in return for an item she plans to purchase.  As he stands there, all sorts of individuals of different shapes and forms needle through, he listens, interested in the sight before him. 

  
  


Perhaps he thought he’d never see her again.  The god with gold eyes. But here she is, looking like the fierce warrior he had witnessed when she allowed it.  A lifetime ago. Now they’ve turned back time, allowing the past to happen all over again. She’s probably had this argument with the very same vendor in that last life before.  He picks up bits and pieces; something about fuel and inflation of pricing. 

  
  


Her hand flies to the sword that rest on her hip and it’s then he decides to intervene.  It takes two strides to get to her side, stealing her attention. He thinks of placing a hand over her green one that so obviously aches to use that weapon but refrains, throwing on the charming smile he’s known for.  

  
  


“If its fuel for your ship you desire, look no further.  I have what you need and at the reasonable price of…” He’s known for trickery so it only takes him a moment to conjure a false piece of paper with an absurdly low price written on it.  He’s sure to present it to both of them. 

  
  


She glances at the vendor with challenge when she spies the price.  “Can you match that? I don’t think so. I will be taking my services to this---”

  
  


“I will match it,” says the vendor, hurriedly.  “And keep it as my base price for your crew.”

  
  


Obviously, this part of the sector of space does not have much business because Loki’s almost sure the vendor would be losing money.  She turns her attention back to Loki and nods to him, as if to say he’s excused now. For a moment, he simply stares, searching for gold in her eyes, everything and nothing, but cannot quite find it.  

  
  


He winks at her instead and takes his leave.  It’s a hard parting but it occurs nonetheless.

  
  


Until minutes later, as he’s departing the market altogether and a hand encloses around his right wrist.  There’s a flash of a little girl and he turns, expecting her to be there. Instead, it’s the emerald warrior, looking upon him with some earnest.  He’s not sure what to do with that attention but stills under her grasp. 

  
  


“Thank you for that.  I’ve seen that ruse done before,” there’s amusement in her tone and he searching for the warmth he remembers.  She smiles at him then and it all comes flooding back. 

  
  


When she lets go of his wrist, he offers a hand and the slight bow of his head instead.  “Loki.”

  
  


He half expects her to answer with an  _ I know _ because surely she is still god among them, even now.  But she takes the name and hand offered with a grace he recalls.  

  
  


“Loki.  Gamora.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


She doesn’t remember.  And he feels as though she never will.  The Soul Stone doesn’t call to her as it does him, he figures.  Because it’s the Space Stone that  _ mourns _ , that needs someone to suffer along with it, alone in the void.  The Soul Stone is merciful and probably merely watches her with fondness, wishing to be with its brethren again but deals with the present.  

  
  


(Just like Thor, he thinks bitterly, for Thor would miss him, avenge him, mourn him, but could go on without him.)

  
  


He keeps looking at her, thinking that maybe she’ll recall something, anything, everything and nothing.  But she doesn’t. Only a dark glint and rare smiles is all that remains. And it’s strange that he should be the all-knowing one when before she had been the god he remembered.  The god that glanced upon his bare soul and read it aloud to him. 

  
  


But perhaps this is simply another cycle.  A circle he’s yet to complete again.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


He travels with them after a misadventure that lands the Guardians with trouble.  Gamora explains this is often the case as they’re running away from bounty hunters, shoving through the crowds and skittering over surfaces.  He yelps when a blast from a weapon hits his shoulder and she’s shooting back, along with a couple others of her teammates. 

  
  


When they all crumple into the spaceship, a little walking tree hops over his form and Quill (“It’s  _ Starlord _ ,” he’d tell Loki indignantly) trips over him.  He growls at the male and bites his tongue when Gamora offers a breathless laugh, helping him up as they get ready to take off.  The raccoon is piloting this time and Quill is arguing with him about it while Drax is already strapped in. Gamora stands with Loki as they escape the spaceport, handing him bandages for his shoulder. 

  
  


“Here, take this.”

  
  


He does and sinks back down to the floor.  Gamora follows him. He can distinctly feel Quill’s eyes narrow at them but he can’t bother with a retort, out of breath and tired.  “Thank you. You Guardians have heart.”

  
  


She blinks and he swears he sees a spec of gold dust in her eye.  “You show heart too.”

  
  


The conversation seems rather familiar.  Loki feels as though he should answer it but doesn’t.  Simply stares at her with inquisitive eyes, searching. She returns it with a tilt of her head, as if expecting him to respond.  When he doesn’t, she pushes away on the floor and rests her arms on her knees, looking out the front of the ship, at the stars they’ll pass and worlds to explore.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


He’s been with them for a couple months now and it’s both draining and exhilarating.  He thinks of his brother, who will surely end his relationship with the mortal, return to Asgard where their father still reigns.  He thinks of Thanos and the inevitable, for he couldn’t do much to stop the dominos from falling. Perhaps Thor could, though, he thinks.  Almost sure of it; more sure than anything that has occured in this needless second chance he’s been given to relive. 

  
  


The Guardians are a welcome distraction from it all.  The banter between them all go on for days and Loki finds himself both deadpanning and sputtering at all of them.  All so different, all tied together for different reasons. Himself included. An all too literal warrior with revenge on his mind, a small talking plant that has only three words to say, a racoon with a love for explosions and baiting others to anger, a mortal that adores music and dancing (and Gamora) far too much, the fiercest woman in all the galaxy and a disowned prince from Asgard.  Mismatched but functioning for now. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Celebrations have never been something he’s fond of.  Not on Asgard anyway and especially when Thor was not present.  But this one takes place in a tavern full of nobodies and he blends in more than he’d like to say.  

  
  


Gamora has taken a liking to it too, he sees.  As she throws a cup back, swallows the alcohol , she looks at him with challenge in her eyes.  It’s a look he’s not used to seeing directed at him, at least, not from her. She means for him to pick up a drink too.  So he does because he doesn’t remember denying her anything from the life before and he’s not sure he’d be able to do it now.  

  
  


It’s when they’re in the corner, laughing away at their teammates, that he decides he’s all right with celebrations.  Odd, how closeness comes easy to the two of them; physically, they’ll stand shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed. Sit together, their feet knocking together and not retreating.  Within a fray, they have no problem tugging the other away from a stray laser. It shouldn’t come so easy, he thinks, because she does not know him from the world he knows her.

  
  


In this tavern, shuffled in a corner, they share their pastimes.  She reveals pieces of her, describing her life with her sister and father with small fragments.  Vague but he already knows it all, has seen it before. 

  
  


“I’m glad,” he says before the words slip off alcohol-rendered loose lips.  He’s still not thinking quite right when she prompts him. 

  
  


Curiosity fills her features and she tilts her head in that fashion he’s all too familiar with.  “Glad about what?”

  
  


“That you no longer think of him as a god.”   _ For it was you who was a god.   _

  
  


Gamora’s staring at him with a raw expression, stripped by the poison in their cups, he knows.  It’s the only reason the mask has shattered before this conversation began. That frozen heart beats loud in his ears as he realizes the statement.  The implication. Caught. 

  
  


“No.  He’s no god,” Gamora answers him slowly but doesn’t look away.  The words echo his from another life and he wonders, wonders,  _ wonders _ .  

  
  


“Aye,” he says but it’s soft, quiet and only for her to hear.  

  
  


They only look away when Quill slides next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.  She’s snorting and shoving him with a roll of her eyes but by then Loki has slinked away to join their other teammates at the gambling table.  He catches her glancing at him with a frown, looking uneasy for the rest of the night. He feels that too.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


The Space Stone calls to him in his sleep more often now.  It’s as if it knows the day of reckoning nears and Loki shakes it off when he wakes.  Sometimes Groot crawls up next to him, like he knows something plagues him, curling into the space between his shoulder and neck with small yawns.

  
  


And something  _ does  _ plague him.  The anchor, the Space Stone, everything and nothing.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“We’re connected, you know,” Gamora states one day, after a long day and the rest of their teammates have long retired.  She sits at the controls, feet kicked up and leaning back. He sits with her in the co-pilot’s seat, nearly mirroring her position but chin rested under his hand. 

  
  


“How so,” he asks, tiredly.  

  
  


“I knew of you, when you worked for my father.”

  
  


His gaze snaps to her with interest.  He hadn’t thought about it before, that she, the daughter of Thanos, had possibly met him in passing before she had pulled him from one stone’s world to another.  In their mortal forms, as solid as they are now. 

  
  


“I don’t think we ever met,” Gamora murmurs, wistful and he’s caught wondering again.  “But I knew the name. Loki,” she rolls his name over her tongue, almost mockingly. “God of Mischief, cheated death to claim Terra for Thanos.”

  
  


“A shame we never crossed paths,” he remarks and part of him truly means it.  “Though I wasn’t much for pleasantries then.”

  
  


“And you are now?”  Amusement flickers in her eyes, like the gold dust he tricks himself into seeing.  

  
  


He turns back to the darkness behind the glass and smiles ruefully.  “No, not quite.”

  
  


(It’s not untrue, though there’s the implication he’s dramatically changed.  With complacency and death. Starlight eyes and amber skies. There’s been a shift and it seems to bleed into every action he makes, with no one around to compare him to the Loki from  _ before _ .  There’s no purpose anymore besides witnessing the fall of the universe.  Even that, he thinks, is not enough. So he might as well drift. Just as the stone does.

  
  


\--- _ you could be so much more _ Thor had said.  He’s changed, yet not the way the reluctant king would want.  If Loki could open himself, pry his ribcage apart, he’d show Thor there was nothing but perhaps a Frost Giant’s heart.)

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


When they exchange killing an interdimensional monster for Gamora’s sister, Loki watches her carefully.  It’s an odd feeling, as if he’s watching himself and Thor, just in different forms. Gamora grabs Nebula roughly, quietly, with thinned lips and restraint as Nebula lets her with stubborn resignation.  Gamora casts a look his way and, for just a moment, he’s led to believe she knows what he’s thinking. But it passes and she charges forward. 

  
  


Nebula reminds him of himself in more ways than he could have thought.  The past life. She’s angry, sour, bitter and so ever wishes to have her sister’s adoration.  It’s plain to Loki. See, Loki understands projection, has lived it over twice now and it’s become habitual.  Only, now, he recognizes it as the weakness it truly is. 

  
  


“What are you looking at, pretty boy?” Nebula spits at him, wrist bound as Gamora searches her for any unseen weapons and busies herself with other things, ignoring any words her sister says.  

  
  


In a past life, Loki would be offended.  Now, well, he’s only amused. So he answers her, as if it were himself, years ago,  “Desperation.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


They meet a man---a cosmic entity, really---that calls himself Quill’s father.  

  
  


And it ends up in total disaster.  Fathers who have a tendency to lie often seem to do that a lot, Loki is beginning to realize.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Quill throws himself into the fray, annoyingly so.  Loki finds himself admiring it, despite himself. The wish to have a father who loved him is something he understands.  A bitter understanding. Loki nearly opts to stay behind their crashed ship, still wary of the golden-skinned race that may find them.  But Gamora grabs his wrist again, says he’ll be going with them in case they need someone to spy lies and Loki can’t say no. 

  
  


So he follows her, as he always does.  Ever since she yanked him from that everything and nothing, that void.  Even if she doesn’t remember. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


It all goes wrong too quickly.  They don’t even last the night on the planet of Ego, as Quill’s father reveals himself to be the world-ender he plans to be.  

  
  


It occurs to Loki that this might be a domino.  That terrifying fall of something into Thanos’ favor.  It worries him, far more than he’d like to admit. Because this cosmic being could have wiped Thanos from existence.  It would have been nice to gather him up to direct his ire to Thanos. But Ego has different plans that involve his son and a new universe.  

  
  


It all comes to a head when they all scramble to escape it.  Mantis is carried by Drax and Loki pushes Gamora in the direction of Nebula, tells her to go.  She gets to the ship before he does. This planet is a fucking nightmare and he hates it. Ever since seeing the iridescent bubbles and annoyingly colorful landscape, he’s loathed it honestly.  Too pretty, even for him.

  
  


When Gamora readies to go back for Quill, Rocket shoots her with electricity and she crumples to the ground.  Everyone stares at him, wide eyed and Loki moves to pick her up, throws her over his shoulder as they prepare to take off, Nebula with him all the way.  The cyborg gives him a look he recognizes as appreciation, laden behind some resentment. Later, she’d tell Gamora that the pretty one isn’t such an idiot as the rest.  

  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Miraculously, Quill survives and he loses two fathers that day.  After the funeral and sleep, they celebrate life together. Loki appreciates their resilience to the suffering.  They all must have suffered quite a lot to end up here, with each other and be able to laugh with gusto, lightness.  It takes him some time to realize he’s doing the same. 

  
  


Later in the night, Gamora finds him outside the tavern, looking out into the expanse and catches him with overflowing sentiment.  She simply leans against the wall with him, drinking her choice of alcohol. He looks at her and wishes she’d recognize him for the lonely soul she pulled from that void.  

  
  


“Quite some company you’ve acquired,” he murmurs, still staring, searching.  

  
  


She’s not looking his way.  Instead, she seems to gaze upon the night skies, as if they’d change a different color, he’d like to believe.  “We’ve all come from somewhere. It’s only fitting we found each other.”

  
  


He doesn’t know if she’s speaking of something else he had been present for or not.  But he understands, nonetheless. Always understands her. He smiles to himself, almost sharply, and bows his head, staring at the ground and crosses his arms.  Sentiment comes too easy with the alcohol. He’s revealed bits and pieces of himself to her too, like he’s silently willing her to relearn what his soul looks like.  In these moments, alone and prompted by the burning liquid in their stomachs, he’s willing to drop the guard; call upon memories of the time she was a god.

  
  


“You’ve made a habit of picking up strays.”

  
  


“From dark corners,” she murmurs and he’s forgotten how to breathe.  

  
  


His eyes snap to hers and she’s staring at him with that raw expression she’s shown few times before.   _ From dark corners, he is no god, you have heart _ .  It slices at him, like humiliation and barbed lighting, hot and cold.  It’s as he’s both feared and wanted. Someone else to remember, to understand this second chance, life, they’ve all been given, only to throw it away.  And here she stands, the all-knowing god he had once knew her for, feeling both self-righteous and ignorant. 

  
  


“How long?” he breathes out, disbelieving.  

  
  


“They would all think I’m a fool,” she answers instead, that familiar smile touching the corners of her lips and he  _ hates  _ it.  “That I would let it all slip away again?”

  
  


“How long,” he says again and throws up his hands when she makes a move to come closer.  

  
  


“ _ You _ probably would think I’m a fool,” she murmurs, taking a step, despite his non-verbal protest.  “I seek peace, even if it won’t come. I still try.” She’s laughing and it rings in his ears, a sound that had once echoed in a world of amber and beauty, now only for him to hear.  It a hopeless sound, bitter and loathsome. “My soul will never change. But it seems yours did. I wouldn’t know anymore. I don’t wield the power to see.”

  
  


He grabs her wrists with either hand then and she doesn’t fight him, doesn’t move away.  Only stares at him with leveled emotion. And there she is, a whisper of that god he knew her for.  It’s a shame he’s too enraged to appreciate the moment it shifts, driven by the burn of alcohol and disbelief.  

  
  


“How  _ long _ .”

  
  


“Since I felt the Power Stone.  Before I saw you in the markets.  It’s as if the stone remembered me.  Now it sits upon an unnamed asteroid and a decoy lays in a vault in Nova.”

  
  


All is still then.  Everything and nothing.  He loathes it, wants to loathe her.  The other heroes, they may be attempting as they might to undo the pending genocide of their universe, but he’s been alone in this.  Cursed to remember it all and what’s to come. And he had unwittingly sought her out, as if a lamb to the slaughter, for she’s  _ known _ .  

  
  


“All this time,” he hisses, “you allowed me to carry this burden.”

  
  


A cruel and terrible thing, he thinks.  For he’s the one who feels caught, humiliated for it.  She could never lie and he  _ knows _ liars.  But she couldn’t lie if he hadn’t asked and that is how she continued to let him believe it was only him.  He’s not sure what’s worse: that she hadn’t revealed herself sooner or that he couldn’t uncover her from the first moment they spoke.  When she grabbed his wrist in the markets, told him her name (because there are names here, not  _ there _ ), she had known him.  Let him parade with her and her revered Guardians, glorified strays.  Brought him into her world.

  
  


“Not a burden,” Gamora says and she reaches up to his temple.  He allows it because he’s always followed, hasn’t he? The girl who pulled and guided him into another world.  (Just like he had let Thor lead him and that thought is more bitter than this.) Fingertips graze above his brow and it’s an achingly familiar gesture.  “We’ve come to the fork in the road. You don’t suffer alone.”

  
  


“And suffering you watched,” he growls now, tense, and snatches her wrist back.  “All for the amusement of a false  _ god _ .”

  
  


“You were a god too,” her voice is too soft and it feels as though she’s stabbed him with this.  “You just never wanted it. The cost is always too great for you, isn’t it? To become more.”

  
  


(“But you could be so much more,” Thor had said, an echo of the first life.)

  
  


“And what of you?” he returns, spitefully, “Was the cost too little?  To pull me away. Pull me into these meaningless distractions. To  _ pretend _ .”

  
  


“I didn’t know you remembered me, you know,” and it’s painful to believe her when she says it.  “I hadn’t been sure. Not until you spoke of Thanos. That night. I hadn’t meant to distract you but you had followed.”

  
  


“You saw me as a stray and dragged me along anyway.”

  
  


He releases her, as if she burned.  She has that raw expression once more, as if pleading for him to understand, the mask washed away by alcohol like acid to metal.  He wonders how many times she’s caught him with that very same sentiment, a poisonous thing that comes with no true reciprocation.  It should feel like betrayal and, in some ways, it is. It’s everything and nothing and there’s a call from the deepest parts of space, calling to him that he’s meant to be alone anyway, just as the stone that knows the void.  

  
  


“At least I had gotten to know you.”

  
  


And that’s what causes that tiny, frozen heart to fracture.  Because they  _ already  _ had gotten the chance to know each other, stolen away in an amber world and just souls wandering together.  But it’s the fact that he’s fought alongside her, intent to spend that time with her, that means something to her.   _ In another life _ she had said.  Had she known, even then?  No, not possibly. Yet, he had drifted in this second life and she snatched at him once more, smoothing out the wrinkles in this terrible idea of amends they’ve been given.  She had wanted to know him, despite it all. Know him as she knew her sister, lost to her. And, bitterly he thinks, it meant something to him too.

  
  


“What an ugly thought,” he states and he spins around, meaning to put as much space, stars and worlds between them as possible.  

  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Loki understands his pull to her.  And her pull to him. If it hadn’t been the stones that united them in a past life, then it would have been their mere gravitation to begin with.  For they both had anchors that were exact replicas of each other. She and Thor would have liked each other, he’s sure. Enjoyed each other’s company in quiet understanding, for they had siblings that fought away their adoration, their love, for so long.  

  
  


But the stones had introduced them instead.  And he’s resentful because of it. 

  
  


And now he understands what he must do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the tone in this fic is poignant, rest assured Loki understood everything Groot said. He, Groot & Rocket certainly sat together, trash talking Quill behind his back.


	3. and gain only this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another cycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the quick fix-it.

 

It had taken him watching Gamora to see that he hasn’t done everything completely wrong in this second life.  In all her righteousness, he saw the small actions that left him feeling as if he had done something right. 

  
  


There had been a time when Loki had attempted to change the tides before.  When he knew the time was near for the dark elves to attack Asgard, he had tried in vain to warn Frigga.  In his position, however, he seemed maddened by desperation, locked away in his cell. Frigga had merely caressed his cheek, spoke to him as a sorrowful mother would; he had called her mother then.  It would be the last thing he would say to her, as the same fate happened a second time to her. This, and his lack of desire to fight, drove him to his complacency. 

  
  


But he had listened to Gamora, whether she meant to lesson him or not.  

  
  


So he returns to Asgard.  Places the spell upon his father, sends him to Midgard, where he will call him son, pass on and Hela will break free.  The only odd divergence in this sequence of events comes when that insufferable sorcerer offers parting words, “You’ve done well, Laufeyson,” but Loki doesn’t have time to think about it before he readies to charge with two daggers in hand and suddenly he’s face planting in grass.  (The wizard  _ dared  _ called him by that name and it had stung.)  The dominos will fall into place and Thor will have to come to realization by himself.  Just as Gamora had to do with Quill and his father. Let it pass. Retrace the steps and diverge to another road when it comes time.  

  
  


He does so when Thor tells him of the eternal flame and he only smirks.  He doesn’t even glance at the Tesseract, despite its calls, its longing. The Space Stone knows it’s different this time.  Loki lets it burn along with the rest of their world. It won’t be destroyed but at least it will drift, just as Gamora had let the Power Stone do, on some unnamed asteroid in a nameless part of space.  

  
  


Perhaps their paths were never meant to cross; yet they intertwined briefly and with intensity.  It could have been left with whispers instead---she could have only heard of him and he could have only seen her in passing and forgotten just as easily.  Unnecessarily, they had met and by their own doing. They didn’t have to but he learnt from her anyway. Their different journeys left him with something and he wonders what he could have left her.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“I feel like everything is going to work out fine,” Thor tells him as they stand before the glass that displays the stretches of space and stars.  

  
  


Thor gives him a look and Loki waits with bated breath for a large ship to show itself, rise from beneath and take them.  After a few more moments, it never comes and he sighs out, sounding more like a humorless chuckle instead. He stares at his brother fondly and he thinks that perhaps he’s finally deserving of that adoration.  

  
  


“I think so too, brother.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


The ship that comes to offer aid to the Asgardian refugees is one he knows all too well.  He retreats almost instantly, backing away as he recognizes it. He watches as the crew make their way onto the large box of a spaceship the Asgardians reside for now.  Watches as she steps forward and looks upon him knowingly. Watches as Quill exclaims he knows Loki and instantly gets defensive when Thor introduces himself to Gamora. 

  
  


Groot grunts at him with new found nonchalance and Rocket swats at his leg as he passes.  Drax and Mantis offer warmer greetings. But Gamora says nothing and he wants to hate her for it.  But he can’t, just as he can’t hate Thor for anything, try as he might. 

  
  


Later, Quill explains that they thought he abandoned them and might have stolen something that night.  All Loki offers is that he had family obligations and Quill leaves it as that, seeing his girlfriend suddenly the interest of the King of Asgard.  

  
  


Loki finds himself watching Thor and Gamora interact; it’s strange to watch, as they both seem to be such prominent figures in his life, yet he had never seen them breathe the same air.  Their actions are fluid together, courteous; they stand with the same grace. Though he could be imagining it. Quill attempts to put himself between them, especially when Thor goes to kiss her hand.  Gamora’s twisting her lips into an amused smile Loki’s way and it’s then he approaches her. 

  
  


They stand side by side, falling back into the brief habits from their short time together.  He folds his hands in front, while hers are clasped behind her back. It’s an odd comfort, he thinks. 

  
  


“This is new,” Loki remarks as Quill and his brother exchange banter.  

  
  


Their interaction is hardly noticed; the only one who would take note now is Heimdall, in his all-seeing eyes.  He means to say more but stops short, for he’s lost all his anger. He realizes she had left him with a purpose, strange as it may be.  Vengeance and self ambition had only offered death and he finds no desire in it. Perhaps the Space Stone had imprinted that into his being more than he had thought.  

  
  


Gamora shifts, bumping his shoulder with hers.  “All your doing.”

  
  


He doesn’t have to confirm it for her.  It’s strange the slightest variations can rewrite a page in history.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


She rewrites some of her own history too, he notes, when the Guardians tell Thor of Thanos.  Loki pointedly ignores the momentary glance Thor gives him when they do because he feels tired of hearing the name, honestly.  But it continues as Gamora has to explain she’s the daughter of Thanos, skirting by the details when she makes a snap of a her fingers.  

  
  


Thor heads to Nidavellir to forge a new weapon and Loki has half a heart to go with him.  Instead, his brother says he should go with the others, head towards Earth with the Guardians with the few Asgardian soldiers they’ve left and Banner to protect the other stones.  He wants to scream at Thor that it’s all been done before but he goes nonetheless, leaving Heimdall and Valkyrie in charge of the civilians. So he follows Gamora because he’d end up trailing after one or the other, eventually.  

  
  


He travels with the Guardians once more.  This time, with that new purpose. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Gamora feels when the Space Stone claimed, just as he does.  Odd, however, she seems to feel it more intensely than he. No one but Loki sees it; like a flash before both their eyes.  He spies fear in her expression but she blinks and it’s gone. They stand next to each other, mutely, instead, shoulder to shoulder.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


As it comes to pass, they only delayed the inevitable.  Thanos would still come. But the universe would be ready this time.  With odd prophecies and slight variations in the beaten paths, they are finally prepared for it.  

  
  


He isn’t, however.  

  
  


For he feels the moment the Soul Stone reveals itself once more.  It burns him inside and he crumples to the ground below, in the middle of a terrible battle involving Thanos’ army and his disillusioned children. 

  
  


Because, predictably, she went to save her sister, understanding she would be the key to the stone.  For the love she has for Nebula is a love Loki understands as well. It scorches within until he cannot feel anything at all.  He wonders if they’ve changed anything, in the end. If this second chance had been wasted. 

  
  


She had once said she wishes for the peace that would never come.  He thinks, as his knees buckle right there, on the battlefield and his vision darkens, that maybe she saw this outcome before.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


There is everything and there is nothing.  A name, but nameless still. A deafening roar but silence all at once.  

  
  


And yet, he knows to call out for her anyway.  

  
  


So she takes his hand this time and guides him to where she resides.  Within her amber skies and glittering water, serene trees and a single shrine planted in a never ending lake.  There, she holds his hand in hers, gentle and forlorn as they sit together. And here, her eyes are molten gold.

  
  


She’s that little girl, a form he realizes is more of a comfort to her than anything else.  She’s favored the pivot in her life, that string that pulled the thread of the fabric, undoing her the moment she took Thanos’ hand, only for him to lead her away to destruction.  She had been but a child. 

  
  


“What a foolish thing you’ve done.”

  
  


“Yes, but she lives.”

  
  


“And you don’t.”

  
  


“Careful,” she says, a lightness to her tone in contrast to his bitterness, “I hear  _ sentiment _ .”

  
  


“Only truth.”

  
  


“You live, as well,” she remarks, as if he should be delighted in this.  “And others will too.”

  
  


“No, you were the last stone unturned.  He takes you and the universe falls.”

  
  


“Ah,” she reaches for him then, taps his nose with her little finger, “You forget.  The cost. Sometimes it’s too great.”

  
  


“The universe suffers for it.”

  
  


“So does he.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


He wakes to a darkened world, lighting crashing down and the sound of thunder.  It takes him a few moments to realize it’s  _ Thor _ , wrecking havoc and eliminating the enemies as if it’s no big feat at all.  And, for Thor, it truly isn’t. For he’s earned his way to be a god. It’s a strange time to realize that, there on the fields of Wakanda, but he understands costs, understands journeys, everything and nothing.  

  
  


Loki grins, feeling newfound delight in it, as Thor crashes himself down with the axe and the ground quakes beneath them all.  

  
  


Even in their youth, Loki recalls looking upon the lighting with great esteem.  It had always been meant for a king, he supposes, that jagged lighting and rolling thunder.  And Thor’s never caught his admiration for what it was; instead, it’s mistaken for a slight, an envy.  Misguided, his brother could be. Wrapped within a bubble that only held room for Thor and Thor alone. Yet, he would still reach out to Loki, plead for reciprocated endearment and foolishly couldn’t accept the idea it would be returned.  

  
  


When Loki throws his daggers, propelled by the magic he wields, he calls for it back the same time Stormbreaker returns to Thor’s grasp.  They catch each other’s gazes across the chaos and Loki realizes that admiration for skill is reflected in Thor’s own expression. His brother grins then and Loki thinks of everything and nothing.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


So it comes to pass, all the heroes involved, contained within this universe, confront the Titan with wild ambitions.  

  
  


Loki stumbles from the battle, Nebula his support as they make it past the tree line.  There are more hideous monsters behind them, though an explosion (the one they name War Machine, he assumes) that knocks them further into the forested area ensures they won’t be followed for now.  Nebula dumps him near the brush unceremoniously and glances around, as if danger is near. Loki groans, holding his side. 

  
  


“Get up, Thanos will come for the remaining stones,” the cyborg says to him tersely.  

  
  


“If I outlive the moment he does,” Loki grumbles as he struggles to sit up.  

  
  


But something flashes in Nebula’s gaze.  Something he knows,  _ understands _ .  It’s that blank loss of someone dear.  Loki wonders if she had let go of Gamora’s hand once, as he let go of Thor’s once upon a time.  He wonders if she regrets it, just as he had. 

  
  


The Space Stone rips through him, first.  It’s a dreadful sound that reverberates every cell in his body and then Loki knows why.  The Titan arrives and Loki prepares to die without his brother there. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Nebula steps forth first, blade in hand.  Stands before a father who never loved her; not like he had Gamora, not like anything.  

  
  


“Gamora’s gone,” Nebula hisses at the Titan as he stares at her with cold nonchalance, “No one will mourn you now.”

  
  


Loki thinks of how true that may be.  What a terrible conclusion, he thinks.  For Nebula must surely know, if she shall perish now, no one will mourn her either.  Gamora’s death resonates with everyone; her damned soul could never change, could it?  She loved, fiercely but quietly, in the abyss of space but as bright as the stars. And with this, he knows it was truly only Thor who had mourned him sorrowfully; only Thor who had felt his loss a third time over.  

  
  


“I never looked for those to mourn my passing,” the Titan returns and swipes at Nebula with the power of the stones he possesses.  But there had been a moment, between both father and daughter, Loki spied; a  _ lie _ .  An acidic, agonizing lie that fluttered between them for what she said was truth and he bypassed it with his own version.  

  
  


Loki visibly flinches and rises to his feet, still holding his fractured ribs.  He feels weakened, more so than he has in ages. Before Thanos had reached out, grabbed him from the black hole Loki willingly threw himself into, Loki had felt a tiredness like this.  His brother had looked upon him with great morose, betrayal on a bridge of a thousand colors and Loki felt  _ tired _ of it.  But he stands now, loose at the seams and ready for passing.   _ No resurrections this time _ , he thinks bitterly.  

  
  


“It must make you feel small,” Loki says in one shaky breath to him.  Vaguely, he’s aware others approach, allies of the battleground and he’s almost sure Quill is one of them.  “---To find yourself worthy, yet still not enough for her. To find she’d make a better god than  _ you _ .”

  
  


It goes without saying whom he speaks of and the Titan makes no comment to question it.  They simply know. But Loki had wished for at least some bafflement that he had known Gamora, the treasured, beloved daughter.  That someone like  _ him _ could ever know her.  Thanos’s eyes drift down to the gauntlet, almost with fatigue, and turns his gaze back to Loki curiously, pinning him in place.  The Space Stone whispers between them, speaks into that void, everything and nothing. Loki’s eyes widen a fraction in realization; the stones remember him and Thanos recognizes that.  

  
  


“You know of true gods now.  Unfortunate it comes at the end.”

  
  


Quill rushes past before Loki can stop him.  He reaches out, as if he could somehow cease the onslaught that will occur.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


One by one, they fall.  The universe had thought they had prepared but they didn’t.  Not fully. 

  
  


The Time Stone and the Mind Stone is ripped away, all too easily.  Too easily, if Loki has anything left to say about the horrific events.  If he could, he’d crawl to his brother, still fighting on the battlefield, die by his side.  It would bring him peace, even if Thor would not know it. Perhaps that had been difference between he and Gamora---peace meant different things.  

  
  


But, instead, Loki lays there among the fallen heroes of the universe, in the dirt and bloodied.  He watches as Thanos closes his fist and power surges over his skin. Dread washes over Loki, then, as he grasps they only were given this second chance to squander it.  They only delayed the end by a few days, he’s sure of it. 

  
  


But then the sky breaks open in white flashes and an axe comes barrelling down.  

  
  


And slices the arm of the Titan clean off.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“Thor--- _ no _ !”

  
  


Loki scrambles to get back up and finds himself running to his brother as soon as he lands on solid ground, energy and sparks array.  He tackles him away right before Thanos roars and swings where Thor had stood. Loki and Thor tumble into the brush, grunting and wincing.  He cries out, sure the fractured rib grinds inside his chest. 

  
  


Anothing roar.  Another wince. Thor is still all lighting and power, breathing ragged as he grasps onto Loki too tightly, as if he were terrified in that moment.  Loki grips the sides of Thor’s face, self-righteous anger burning his veins. Or perhaps he’s ensuring his brother is still there, that he could die here, by his side.

  
  


“ _ Fool _ ,” he hisses, “He is still bound to the stones.”

  
  


But then Thor does something he couldn’t imagine in response.  He smiles. Triumphant and it’s cruel and relieving all at once, everything and nothing.  With short breaths, “I was told to aim for the head. But I changed my mind.”

  
  


Thor yanks him up from the ground and Loki feels himself too weak, holding onto him for support.  And they watch. It would seem Thor’s part in this is over and they are mere spectators to the rest of the show.  He watches as Nebula skitters to a stop around the maimed limb, picking it up with the help of a hero reminiscent of a spider.  He watches as the Black Panther, the Scarlet Witch and a number of others rush the Titan, warding him off from the gauntlet. He watches as Black Widow, Groot and Quill hurry to detach the limb from it.  And finally, he watches as the gauntlet is tossed by the Hulk towards Steve Rodgers, who catches it, despite the protest of Tony Stark, screaming at him not to be a damn idiot. 

  
  


The gauntlet warps under Steve Rodger’s grasp and suddenly everything is white and all Loki hears is Thanos’ strangled cry and feels Thor throw him to the ground again.  To shield him, he’s sure. Thor couldn’t change that piece of his soul, even if he tried.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


They had been given a script, it only seemed right that they all diverge from it, improvise with the tools given.  Thor had been told to aim for the head. Banner had been advised to calibrate Vision differently, so that the android may outlive the Mind Stone’s loss.   Black Panther said he listened when a stranger from the future said to open his borders sooner. The Princess of Wakanda had been given information through schematics and codes.  Tony Stark had been keenly aware of the events, they discover, carrying the idea of wielding the stones by himself. In the end, it would be Steve Rodgers who would be worthy of it, having sacrificed his soul and world many times over.  No one asks about Strange, though it’s heavily implied that he probably knew the entire time, which is why it’s not spoken of. 

  
  


It must occur to Thor, in the aftermath, and as he drags Loki away, presumably to medical care, that his actions echoes what the others have said before.   They all revealed strange warnings of the future, perhaps Loki had too. 

  
  


“You’ve known what was laid ahead,” Thor murmurs to him, quietly, underneath the eerie sounds of a war ending.  It’s posed as a statement, though still searching for an answer. He marvels at how his brother has changed; he’s gotten to witness it twice now.  

  
  


Loki doesn’t know whether to answer it honestly or not.  Habits are a hard thing to shake, after all. “You would have believed me mad.”

  
  


A young woman rushes past them, two buns atop her head and he’s instantly reminded of another girl, taking his wrist and guiding.  Loki’s not entirely sure but the young woman seems to yell  _ Brother _ and he’s glancing over his shoulder just as she embraces the Black Panther.  He thinks of Gamora, in that moment, and what a treasure it must be to reunite with a sibling after the war is over, to win or lose.  Then he thinks of Nebula, who stands somewhere within Wakanda, alone and without an anchor. He thinks of Thor, who has an arm supporting Loki as they stagger for aid.  What a cruel image it would have been if any of them would have died without the other present. 

  
  


“It wouldn’t be a first.”

  
  


A jest, yet it feels heavy.  It carries questions and sudden harshness that has Loki snap his gaze to Thor.  They’ve stopped in the fields and his brother is looking at him with a zeal he’s forgotten he had and has the urge to explain.  “I only had a small part, it would seem.”

  
  


“You did not flee.”

  
  


“I did,” Loki finds himself confessing, startlement blooming inside his already pained chest.  “To dark corners and believed I would witness the fall.”

  
  


“But you are here now.”

  
  


“Aye.”

  
  


Thor nods, the battle wearing on him and he stumbles.  (“Steady, brother,” Loki murmurs, though in vain, as he nearly trips with him.)  They lean on each other until aid comes, supporting their weight together. Loki thinks he may get the chance to tell his story later but Thor, this changed man in the form of his brother, has endless patience for Loki.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Asgard breathes new life, built within Midgard in the northern lands.  Its stretches are finite and Loki discovers he is all right with that;  _ something _ must end somewhere.  Where Asgard is, however, shines and vibrates with its power. 

 

He’d believe it to be fitting, that he should remain here.  Once upon a time, he thought he hadn’t belonged; a mismatched piece in a sea of ordered harmony.  But his brother sears Loki’s edges to make him fit amongst the rest with fiery determination. It’s not questioned, even as he sits council to the King of Asgard, a shadow to his light, everything and nothing.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Loki asks him, in passing, why show the Titan any mercy.  A dreadful part of him wished him dead, that he may understand its coldness and raw nothingness.  Thor merely smiles at him, in that way that is something like heartbreak (because, as Loki understands, Thor has experienced heartbreak many times over) and claps a hand on his shoulder.  

  
  


“So that he may witness the new beginning, brother,” Thor seems to decide that is an appropriate answer.  Not to ‘show mercy’ or anything Loki had been prepared for. Not to make him suffer to see that new beginning.  It’s simply so that their enemy could know there would be no fall. “Something had asked me.”

  
  


A frown flickers over Loki’s features then and he feels as though he knows what he means before Thor says it.  

  
  


“It asked that I end his suffering and I answered in the only way I could.”

  
  


To show that the Titan had been worthy but it had cost him everything, in the end.  Loki understands this as he understands everything and nothing. He thinks, if Thanos hadn’t picked up the gauntlet itself, that perhaps Thanos would have been tethered to the Space Stone as well, chase for a beloved daughter, as Loki had chased for his brother in mind.  A cycle. 

  
  


“You granted its wish,” Loki remarks and spies Thor’s curious glance in the corner of his eye.  “It would seem we’ve all made something of this scorched earth.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  


She slips into the gardens he walks under only stars and no moonlight.  He’s not even mildly surprised she had risen no alarm, striding freely past any watch or guard within their new city.  The skills of an assassin and daughter to Thanos shouldn’t be any shock to him. 

  
  


But that she would seek him, after their last encounter, may surprise him.  

  
  


With crimson hair and a familiar glint in her eyes, she approaches and he stands, poised as ever.  He watches her, interested in her intent to be even found near him. Surely, she is needed in corners of the galaxy, meant to uncover evil and rip it apart, meant to be with her sister.  

  
  


When they are only an arm’s length apart, he tilts his head to the side with question.  It’s as if she knows his thoughts, even now. 

  
  


“You did not seemed pleased with our last parting,” Gamora says and he smirks at the words, ruefully.  

  
  


“What would a god care of  _ my _ feelings,” he says to her but means no maliciousness; his words fall softer than he thinks they should.  “A god no more, then.”

  
  


“No,” lips twist into a smile, everything and nothing.  “I should thank you---and your brother. My father sleeps and his last waking thought had been kind failure.”

  
  


“If there is such a thing, it must be a sweet end.”

  
  


“Bittersweet,” she returns.

  
  


(Everything and nothing.)

  
  


He takes her hand then, nearly presuming for her to yank it away, but allows him to guide her through the gardens.  They find a place to sit and he tugs her down with him and they look upon a black sky. His world, he reveals to her, has stardust and darkness.  Amber skies no longer exist. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Steve Rodgers, as it turned out, had more heart than the rest of them.  Having understood the stones the moment they tethered to him, and perhaps before then, he knew of their yearning, the endless circle that would have to come to pass.  The stones weren’t meant to stay together long and he would cast them out into the deep corners of the universe, meant to spend another eternity alone and without each other.  The Time Stone, however, remains on Midgard, Loki knows and no one debates the decision when Strange omits they had succeeded. 

  
  


Before Rodgers had disbanded the stones, he heeded the pleads of a sister, who spoke of a soul claimed.  Heimdall, in the end, would be the one to tell Loki, for while his sight did not give him understandings of the past life they all had suffered unknowingly, it granted the string that connected Loki to Gamora, however fragile and small it had seemed to be.  He had been stunned but it had recoiled inside him with the cold truth that this second life came with no real permanence; that if he were to to live, so could she. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


She stands, ready to take her leave.  He doesn’t follow this time, instead watches her as she takes in a breath; new air.  He wonders how the fall back to reality had been for her; the solid form of mortality, no longer a whisper of a god.  

  
  


“I’m glad I had gotten to know you,” he finds himself telling her, needlessly, sentimentally.  

  
  


Her dark eyes fall upon him, echoes of the brief life they shared together and apart.  He knows it well, for he had once truly seen her, just as she had seen him. She smiles. 

  
  


“Until next time.”

  
  


“Til then,” he agrees, though, in truth, it could have meant anything.  

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Thor doesn’t seem to react to Loki’s accounts of the lives he’s lived before this one.  The original timeline, the void and then this one. Loki believes he should be furious; he surely would have lashed out in the original life.  If he and Thor had swapped places, discovered he had known all their fates beforehand, Loki would have been filled with fury. And, he thinks numbly, he had already done that in  _ this _ life---with Gamora.  However, his brother doesn’t show any indication of how he feels.  He simply sits quietly, thumb grazing over his bottom lip as if he’s pondering how to respond.  

  
  


Then he does.  

  
  


“I should think myself lucky,” he says and it sounds something endearing and something sorrowful, “that when you chose to come home, I didn’t have to witness your death a third time.”

  
  


It taste bitter in Loki’s mouth to hear those words, for it’s true.  He had let go of Thor the first time, fallen into the abyss that he would so deeply understand.  The second, he had fooled his brother, leaving him to mourn and grow quieter, less blazen. It had been the third that should sing the most tragic of all, as Loki had pledged an oath to Thor, offer everything and nothing, only to die for it.  

  
  


“Home,” Loki breathes out, like a humorless laugh, stolen from something cruel and unbidden.  Mirthlessly, “What sweet sentiment.”

  
  


In that moment, Thor grabs the nape of his neck and rests his forehead against his, grounding him,, as if to emphasize the word, give it new meaning that Loki rejects.  Had he not proven Asgard would never be home? Had he not shown this already to his brother? As Asgard is not a place but a people, home meant something else to Loki as well.  It took two lifetimes to know it. Home did not reside in Asgard; it lay within a frightening eye of a storm, a god. Then he decides between the paradoxes, letting go between everything and nothing and decides on simply:  _ This, this, this. _

  
  


Under the familiar touch, Loki half expects the universe to split in two, ripping him apart from his brother, as it had done in the past ( _ a damned cycle, never to be rid of it _ , he hears the echoes of a bottomless stone).  The world doesn’t shred under the small bit of affection, however.  No quakes, no voids. It doesn’t soothe the underlying fear, coiling inside his chest.  He regards him, warily and breathes out, thinks  _ Home _ . Thor smiles warmly, as if he knows this and closes his eyes.  Loki watches as his brother responds.

  
  


“Then let it be.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm a sucker for siblings, they gotta have a sickeningly happy ending. I'd like to write a fic related to this one involving Shuri's pov. And, yeah, writing in a bunch of characters is overwhelming, damn.


End file.
